Archive of Our Own

The crackles of thunder grow louder as the doors and windows of Nikolai’s cottage quake.

He yelps, grabbing the box where his current patient- a little sparrow with wings the colour of autumn- is residing. The creature chirps angrily, pecking at the fingers he has hooked into its domain.

“Easy there, little guy.” Nikolai winces, poking his head before he sets the box down on the floor. This way, there’s no chance of it falling down and hurting the healing creature again.

Meanwhile, he begins hearing a few croons from outside the kitchen. Fuck.

Nikolai bullets towards the room he’s kept as a sanctuary for the larger birds he keeps. This one is a dimly lit spade padded out with straw over the floor and a few homemade perching stools here and there.

As he expected, Kiera’s bright orange feathers are beginning to glow near her tail end in distress. She flaps her wings when Nikolai enters the room, a small flame building on her head. 

The phoenix croons again, worrying a few others around her as well, but Nikolai calms them down easily before moving to her.

“It’s just some rain, pretty lady.” He assures her, stroking her back while subtly blowing at her tail to get the fire down. 

Unfortunately, this is when a damning gunshot sounds around the house. Now, there are birds swarming every which way in panic. Feathers and little pieces of hay go flying as Nikolai lifts two fingers to his lips and lets out a loud whistle.

The noise settles them down in an instant and he sighs.

“It’s just a huntsman, everyone. He can’t get in here, promise.” He’s not sure if any of these birds really understand his little speeches, but takes a handful of seeds out of his apron and feeds it to Kiera, who's finally starting to ease up now.

Unfortunately, a huntsman is nothing to be calm about. He’s had a few men show up at his door in search of Kiera- a rare breed of phoenix who was shot up when Nikolai found her on one of his morning walks for food, meaning she’s been spotted and the word has spread.

Still, it’s been a week since then, so this shot must have been aimed at something newer that he hasn’t had the chance to rescue.

So, consequently, he will have to check outside to see what the bastard could possibly be after.

You see, Nikolai is a simple man. Years ago, he got tired of living in a village full of imbeciles and took his retreat into a small cottage in the middle of the woods. Birds weren’t always the plan, of course. 

He just happened to help a sickly dove one day and the forest rewarded him with fresh bushels of berries sprouting in his garden and a well of water coincidentally spawning not too far from his home.

Now, he and the woods have a small exchange going on; Nikolai takes care of any creature in need if he happens to find one and nature rewards him by never letting him die of starvation or from the cold.

He sighs now, tying the laces of his boots and tying his shoulder length hair into a ponytail. Once he’s ready, he opens the wooden door of his home.

The storm is wild and loud when he rushes out, rain soaking his clothes while he uses a hand to shield his face and plough towards where the gunshot sounded from.

There is another and Nikolai flinches, freezing because this one is a lot closer. He holds up his hands and imitates a bird call, which proves to be difficult with his dampened hands. 

Immediately, he spots it. 

He does not see the body, but large, grey wings- almost the size of him- rush past him.

And right into his house. The door slams behind it and he gapes at it, offended as he storms after it.

“Hey!” He calls, stomping towards his home. The door is jammed for a moment and it takes a decent amount of strength to throw it open. His fingers ache for a moment, but he’s too busy scanning the darkness to fret.

He grabs the candelabra from his entry way and follows the trail of feathers on the ground. One of them- long and larger than his hands catches his attention. He bends down to pick it up and scans it.

The exterior is an ashy grey, but inside, it is a snowy white with grey speckles. Near the tapering tip is a few splotches of blood. His eyes widen.

There are not many creatures with this feather type. There are eagles, of course, but none of them are quite this large…unless it’s a harpy.

Oh fuck.

The thing about harpies is that they are way more human than they are any type of animal. Nikolai has never encountered one up close, but from what he’s been told, they are human loathing and proud beings. If this is one of them, he’s not sure if he’s going to be able to help them.

“Hello? Mr…or Ms. Harpy?” He calls, looking around the space. “I’m the person who called you! And the man who lives here!”

No response. He looks towards the door of the bird sanctuary. He’s not the one who closed it. Well, here goes nothing.

Nikolai gently pushes the door of the room open and peeks inside. The birds are all gathered near a corner, watching it as if mesmerised. He can make out a figure in the darkness.

“Do not come near me.” The voice is husky, if not, a little broken. He’s been hurt. “I don’t care who you are I will-”

Nikolai takes a cautious step forward. “You’re here because the woods guided you here. I help injured creatures-”

“I am no creature, you narrow minded human.” The harpy’s wings are shielded over its face. They are just as brilliantly ashy as the feather in Nikolai’s hand. “I’m surprised a man of all things has a phoenix as a pet.”

“Kiera’s not a pet.” Nikolai counters as the crimson bird swoops into his shoulder. Its warmth is inviting to how cold the storm has made him feel. “She’s only here because she was sickly and needed help. She’ll be gone as soon…as…” 

Oh.

Brilliant amethyst eyes and thick, dark brows glare at him overtop the wings. “I do not trust you.”

“You don’t have to. You can stay as long as you like, even if it’s just until after the storm. I’m not sure if you’ve been hurt, but I’ll take a look at the injury if that’s what you wish.” Nikolai kneels down in front of the harpy, his own blue eyes locked with the other’s.

The harpy continues to glare. Then, it outstretches a wing. 

His face is nothing but human- a beak-like, hooked nose and pale pink lips not so different from Nikolai’s own. His feathers fade into his humanoid arms  when he stretches it out and Nikolai winces when he spots it.

A gunshot wound puncturing right through his wing.

“May I…?” He holds out a hand to examine it.

The harpy shakes his head, tetchily snapping his wing away. “It will heal itself. Unlike humans, harpies can heal their injuries over time.”

“I should check if the bullet is still inside of your wing.” Nikolai argues, watching the harpy’s face fall in something akin to panic before he is cold again. “You’ve been shot near the base of your wing. If it’s still there, it could cause an infection.”

A pause. “Fine. But be quick.”

Nikolai nods, hastily kneeling lower to inspect the wound. The harpy hisses softly, shutting his eyes when he flattens his feathers in an attempt to get a closer look.

He spots something small and silver and gasps.

The harpy panics. “What?”

“It’s still in there.” Nikolai tells him, backing up. “But I can get it out. Wait here.”

And then he rushes towards his room, rummaging underneath his bed for the small white shoe box he keeps his supplies in and runs right back. Kiera is on the harpy’s lap now as he strokes her feathers. The harpy is wearing a robe of sorts- one that is black does nothing to cover his arms due to the graceful array of feathers lining them.

“What’s your name?” The harpy asks coldly, narrowing his eyes at Nikolai while the taller man attempts to organise his supplies near his feet.

“Nikolai.” He hums absently, holding a hand out for him to offer his damaged wing to. “Yours?”

“A human isn’t worthy of knowing my name.” He scoffs, holding his arm out for the taller being to inspect. Nikolai notices him watching his movements from the corner of his eyes and fights back a smile.

Harpies are prideful, bordering on arrogant, but they’re logical as well. A harpy wouldn’t risk its ability to fly for the sake of pettiness and this one is no exception.

It takes him a moment to push a pair of tweezers past the wound, earning him a pained hiss. Unconsciously, Nikolai’s hand moves to stroke his wing in a comforting motion. “Ease up there, little birdie.”

“Don’t patronise me.” The harpy snaps, but then recoils when he pushes the tweezers in deeper. His blood is staining Nikolai’s fingertips now. “A human like you doesn’t understand the pain of hurting a wing. The stem of them is ten times more sensitive than any part of the human body.”

“Let me do my job, birdie.” Nikolai waves him off, but the harpy is unsatisfied.

“Do not address me as you would a pet.” He snaps, looking away as Nikolai begins tugging out the bullet. 

“You didn’t give me your name.” Nikolai stops talking to finally yank the bullet out with a final sigh. “There. Let me disinfect that and we can let nature do its thing.”

“The huntsman.” The harpy begins quietly, picking at the feathers of his good wing. “He’s still on the lookout for me.”

There’s something like shame laced in his words. As if he’s dreading speaking to Nikolai about this vulnerable state he’s in at all.

“You can stay here as long as it takes you to heal.” Nikolai assures him, finishing his work on the harpy’s wing. “That way, I can keep an eye on that little wound for you and, hopefully, divert his attention to a deer of some sorts.”

The harpy is glaring at him, untrusting but weakened. It’s dawning on him that Nikolai has an unspoken advantage over him, being a head taller and a lot broader than the more frail being.

And there’s no way to convince him that the taller man wouldn’t even consider doing anything to him even if it meant all the blessings in the forest, so Nikolai simply edges away from the harpy on his knees to give him space to think.

Kiera hops onto his lap at that moment, crooning softly. The noises catch the harpy’s attention. “Do you speak to birds, Nikolai?”

“Nope. But I understand them just fine.” He hums, idly stroking her back with an absent smile. “Why?”

“She is telling me about you. The phoenix, I mean.” The harpy informs him stiffly, as if disappointed by that piece of news. “It seems you have her highest praises. As do you for…”

He trails off, looking around the room. The few birds still on their little stools chirp along and he nods in affirmation, the human watching him in awe. “It seems that the opinion on you is unanimous. I shall stay a few days.”

“Alrighty, then.” Nikolai stands, brushing the stray pieces of straw off of his lap. “I’ll make some arrangements and uh…have you all set for the night…”

“Fyodor.” The harpy mutters dismissively, tucking a strand of his hair behind an ear with a distant frown.

“Hm?”

“My name.” He clarifies, irritated. “It’s Fyodor.”

“Fyodor.” Nikolai echoes, tasting the name. He’s never known a harpy by name. Are they typically so human? “Right. I’ll make an arrangement for you to stay the night here.”

The harpy watches him all the way to the door with a distrustful glare, as if his words are dripping with suspicion.

The first thing Nikolai does as he plods through the hall of the house is shrug his coat back on before hastily stepping outside and having a look around in the rain. When he realises that this attempt to spot the hunter is futile, he clicks his tongue and walks back in, throwing his coat off once more and hurrying to his supply closet to rummage for a few blankets to create a makeshift nest for the harpy.

Arriving back to the room, Nikolai is met with emptiness save for his birds. He looks around at them questioningly, dropping the blankets. “Where’s…”

The human trails off at the sound of shuffling coming from his room and, sure enough, when he enters, Fyodor is sitting at the edge of his bed with a curious stare.

Nikolai gapes. “You can’t sleep here. This is my bed.”

“As I see it, this is the finest bed in this house.” Fyodor hums, bouncing lightly where he sits. “I will be taking it. And those blankets you walked by with a moment ago as well.”

“Whoa, there.” Nikolai holds up a hand, irritated at the gall of the being treating him like a second class citizen. “Like I said, this is my bed.”

“Did you not say that you take care of the birds here? That means putting them at your utmost priority, no?” He arches a brow, at Nikolai’s visible distaste. “Besides, I’m sure someone as knowledgeable as you would know us harpies don’t sleep on the floor of all places.”

A beat of silence.

“Whatever. Fine. I guess I’ll sleep on the floor.” Nikolai huffs, stalking back over to the birds’ room. He expects sympathy, or at least gratefulness, but when he returns with the blankets, the harpy is happily rearranging the pillows on his bed.

Then, when he turns to look at Nikolai, his upturned lips fall again. “Never mind about those blankets. They likely reek of humans.”

Oh boy.

__

“Good morning, my little canary.” Nikolai hums, running a finger over the little yellow bird’s head where it rests on his palm, happily feeding on a few seeds. “How are we feeling today?”

A quiet chirp, the bird too preoccupied with eating to respond properly. All the while, there is bread heating on his skillet and tea on the stove, the scent of it mingling with the more overpowering one of fresh rain.

Outside, the fruits he’s growing need picking, meaning he’s in for a long day of labour in the crisp sunlight.

Rustling coming from Nikolai’s room only causes him to pout a little, remembering the soreness in his back due to sleeping on the floor of his own room. 

Still, though, he can’t complain. Fyodor was restless all night, tossing and turning in his sheets sleeplessly when he thought Nikolai had fallen asleep. Nikolai makes a note to mix together some numbing paste later.

On cue, the harpy is entering his kitchen, hair a mess all over his head and brilliant grey wings curled around himself. He spares Nikolai not even a glance, walking directly towards the stove and staring at the bread on the skillet.

“I can’t eat this.” He deadpans, looking back at the human as if he’s put it in front of him as a taunt. 

Nikolai looks between him and the skillet. “Okay.”

Silence, the sizzling of butter being the only sound to fill it.

“My stomach cannot digest carbohydrates easily.” Fyodor elaborates snarkily. “Unless your plan is to starve me to death, I humbly request an alternative.”

Nikolai looks down at the palm the canary is feeding from and up at Fyodor with a sheepish smile. The harpy’s scowl only deepens.

A heavy sigh, Nikolai setting the bird on the table with the rest of the seeds before brushing his hand over his denim jeans. “Fine. What do harpies typically eat, then, hm?”

“Since we are more like birds in terms of food and eating,” The harpy begins, reaching for the mug Nikolai has beside the stove. As he does, the thick layer of feathers over his arms knocks a paper towel roll off of the counter. He blinks at it for a moment before looking back up. “Berries and fruits. That is what my diet consists of.”

Nikolai hums, watching the canary finish up his seeds. After a moment, he sighs, looking up at Fyodor. “Tell you what? There’s a bowl of strawberries in the pantry. You finish up those for breakfast, meanwhile I’ll head out and pluck fresh fruit and we can figure out a meal system that works for you with what I have.”

Fyodor eyes Nikolai for a moment as the taller man stands up to retrieve his breakfast from the stove. “I’ve got some blueberries, more strawberries, raspberries and white grapes. Mixing those up with some herbs in a fruit salad’ll get you right up in no time.”

A pause, the harpy slowly bending down and picking up the paper towel roll he knocked down earlier. Slowly, he slots it back onto the counter with an unreadable expression.

“I appreciate the effort.”

__

“I’m back!” Nikolai calls, wiping the sweat off of his face as he enters the house once more a little into the evening. 

He’s been out all day, bearing the gruesome task of picking a variety of berries from outside of his house. It’s not so much as difficult as it is tedious- his strawberry juice stained fingers attest to that factor. Along with them, he also has a few blueberries and raspberries.

He’ll need to do more research to confirm, but it feels like he’s already being rewarded for keeping Fyodor safe- what seem to be sprouts of watermelon have taken to growing near the berry bushes. He’ll have to plough the soil for them properly later, but a new variety of fruit is reason for celebration enough.

Fyodor isn’t in the kitchen anymore, but the bowl of strawberries from earlier is sitting on the table, empty. Nikolai then checks the bird room, finds no one there but decides to toss a few berries inside, then finds his own room’s door is slightly ajar.

He knocks. “Fyodor? Is everything okay?”

“You may enter.” The reply comes, leading Nikolai to poke his head inside.

The harpy is nestled on his bed, his good wing outstretched. Nikolai watches him thread his opposite finger through the feathers with a wince, picking out minuscule black specs with a critical frown. 

“Uh…what’s all this?” He begins doubtfully, grateful that his hairbrush is concealed in one of his drawers.

“Grooming. Do humans not maintain their…hair, for example?” Fyodor hums crisply, arching a brow as he meets Nikolai’s eyes, then flits them up to his hair. “I mean you must keep it so white and tidy some way.”

“Aw shucks, Fyodor, you’re such a charmer.” Nikolai coos before it clicks. “Oh, but I guess harpies don’t tend to wash their wings due to the fact that they need to fly places all the time.”

“In my home, there’s a fresh spring of cool and running water. We tend to prefer it whenever the time comes to maintain the cleanliness of our wings.” Fyodor explains, picking at his wings once more. “They are our greatest pride.”

“Mhm…” Nikolai makes a mental note of it to write down for later. Maybe he should start his own study on harpies- not to share with other humans, of course. But keeping a journal is a fun idea. “Oh, by the way, I got all the fruit you need so I’ll be washing it in a bit. Tell me if you need anything.”

Fyodor only replies with a hum, sending Nikolai on his way to the kitchen once more.

In about an hour, Nikolai has each fruit assorted into separate baskets and has successfully removed the strawberry stains from his fingers with all the rinsing he’s been doing. He doesn’t have a refrigerator here, but an industrial supply of ice in the freezer he has in his attic is more than enough to keep the fruits cool for now.

Summer showers do a pretty good job of keeping the weather even, but hot days like this call for extra measures to make sure the fruit doesn’t rot too quickly. 

He hums to himself as he dries his hands off with a towel before opening one of the overhead cupboards and gets out a few bottles.

“What are you doing now?” Fyodor’s voice catches his attention to find the harpy standing at the entrance of the kitchen.

“How long have you been standing there?” Nikolai questions aloud, grabbing a bowl from another cupboard and beginning to pour in the herbs he retrieved. 

“A while now, I’m surprised you didn’t hear me coming.” Fyodor hums, leaning against the doorframe.

“I’ve been busy for a bit.” Nikolai gestures to the fruits, watching as Fyodor approaches them with mild interest. “If you needed anything, you could have asked.”

“I didn’t think you’d be here so long.” The harpy replies, picking up a blueberry and tossing it into his mouth. He lets out a pleased hum and helps himself to another. “It’s just that there’s not much to do here, is there?”

“Sure there is.” Nikolai begins, taking his masher and crushing the herbs together. “I’ve been out all day, haven’t I? I mean, house work isn’t so entertaining as it is a chore, but I got the birds here too. Sometimes, I even head out to town to get myself something nice to eat or stock up on supplies.”

“I see.” Fyodor mutters doubtfully. “Then it’s more like there’s not much I can do.”

“Hm…” Nikolai pauses to pour a few tablespoons of water into the bowl before an idea hits him. “I have books!”

“You…do?” Fyodor asks, visibly perking up. Nikolai finds that his face is almost…adorable when he’s not pissed off. “Where?”

“Up in the attic.” He informs the shorter man, setting down the bowl to let it sit and motioning for Fyodor to follow him. “I don’t suppose you’re into really boring memoirs and war strategies?”

“You’re in luck, those are my favourite kind of books.” Fyodor hums, following him up the dingy steps beside the bird room.

The attic is dimly lit by a singular light bulb- one that Nikolai has to switch on and wait in awkward silence and darkness for about a few seconds before it comes to life. Fyodor follows him closely as he approaches a carton shoved into the corner of the room and throws the lid open, revealing a stack of neatly arranged but dusty books.

“Dunno why I even have these.” He hums, handing Fyodor a couple of them and standing back up. “You can come here any time and take any one that looks good. There’s enough here to keep you entertained for over a month.”

“Thank you, but I’m sure I’ll be gone in a week or two, depending on the state of my wings.” The harpy replies, flexing an arm back and forth to emphasise his words. 

Nikolai only nods, sparing the box a final look. He’s pretty sure he has a few items of his own in there too. A log book from when he first moved here, a few survival guides, a guide to taking care of birds too.

He doesn’t need them any more of course, but the idea of the harpy leafing through the log book and finding some old titbit from when he nearly burnt down half of the house is embarrassing enough.

He should filter out the contents of it soon.

__

The Second Week:

Nikolai is seated in his kitchen late at night, neck craned as he sketches out what he can recall without reference onto his journal. Fyodor is asleep, curled up on Nikolai’s bed and blissfully unaware of his current activity.

He’s been taking notes for the past week and is finally jotting them down- his personal study on harpies from an unbiased perspective. Well, Fyodor did hog the bathroom for over an hour for no apparent reason, so maybe he is a little biassed in some areas.

In others, he’s decided to keep things based on what he's seen.

For example, Fyodor takes naps in the sun on warmer days, laying on the grass with his wings spread out, he prefers his strawberries without the white cores (a duty that he, thankfully, takes upon fulfilling himself, insisting that Nikolai’s hands are probably filthy) and, his favourite of all, Fyodor is rather vain about his wings.

Whenever Nikolai finds himself giving him an offhand component about the softness of the texture while he applies the numbing paste to the harpy’s wings or even admiring them quietly, Fyodor’s cheeks will tinge a pleasant, pale pink while he attempts to weakly brush off the statement.

His hands ache for a moment, but he refuses to pull away from the drawing of Fyodor’s wings that he has been working on for the past few days. He’s dedicated quite a few pages to them- a whole scale of both of them outstretched, a few of them curled around him like they are when he’s asleep and a few sketches of Fyodor himself.

Fyodor’s face, where it resembles a bird in the shape of it, is so human that it’s easy to forget that he’s anything but. His eyes are beautiful too- little shining amethysts that blur at the edges. 

He should sit down with the harpy properly one day and sketch him out…that is, when he gathers the courage to tell him he’s been documenting him. His pride can’t take that hit just yet.

Another hour passes of him rereading the notes, adding details that nearly slipped his mind and finishing the sketches when he finally starts feeling sleepy.

He yawns, stretching his arms up and tucking the notebook underneath his arm as he exits the kitchen. In his room, Fyodor is fast asleep in the nest he’s made of Nikolai’s bed.

The one near the mattress is now littered with more blankets and pillows he retrieved from the town. Mixed in are a few of Nikolai’s old shirts to “increase the padding”- he hasn’t started the nesting portion of his study yet, so he’s unsure. All he knows is that Fyodor is uncomfortable anywhere outside of the aforementioned nest.

Fyodor barely stirs when Nikolai lowers himself on the thin quilt he uses as a mattress. It’s hard on his back but Fyodor is anything but merciful when it comes to sleeping arrangements.

Still, he finds himself thinking that it’s…nice to have some company. He hasn’t had a human to talk to in so long, he forgot the comfort of hearing a voice from the other room.

Nikolai yawns, shivering a little and throwing his thin blanket over himself to escape the chill of the room.

Autumn is arriving.

__

He wakes up to a foot tapping his knee the next morning.

Fyodor is standing over him, Nikolai notes as his eyes unblur. He rubs at them with a yawn, peering up at the visibly distressed harpy.

“What’s wrong, Fyodor?” He questions, sitting sluggishly. He should really start going to bed earlier.

The harpy opens his mouth to reply, then sneezes and nearly falls back as he does. It’s then that Nikolai finally takes in the sickly pale to his skin, the waterlines of his eyes and his reddened cheeks.

Uh oh.

“Looks like you’re coming down with a cold.” He notes, standing up and walking over slowly. “A cup of hot tea and some water should soothe the sneezing, but if you get a fever, we might have to switch to medications.”

“Colds are supposed to be human illnesses.” Fyodor pouts and it’s so adorable that Nikolai is thrown for a loop. This nuisance shouldn’t be so cute, he decides. “I’ve never fallen victim to one in my life.”

“Hm…I dunno if it is, though.” Nikolai counters, reaching for a blanket. Fyodor’s expression immediately sours and he bats his hand away. Right. The harpy is very possessive of his nest. “You’ve been huddled up in a ton of blankets and pillows, so there should be no reason for you to catch a cold.”

He bites his tongue to push on sneakily that, if anything, Nikolai should be the one getting sick right now.

“Could just be some kind of…bird…flu…?” He offers, and is met with a cold glare.

“I am no bird, Nikolai. Nor a human.” He mutters each word with a thick air of distaste. “I am a harpy. And you clearly have no understanding of our nature.”

“Well, no one does.” He huffs, rolling his eyes and turning to fold his thin blanket where it lays on his quilts. “Maybe if you guys weren’t so grossed out by us “inferior beings”, there could be more research done on your illnesses. And that’s for your benefit.”

“Oh please, humans are all selfish and self-centred.” Fyodor sniffs tetchily, nose audibly stuffed.

Nikolai feels his brow twitch. “Well then, guess if I’m so selfish then I won’t be providing you your bed, your food, your medicine or any entertainment.”

With the last statement, Fyodor shoots the book on his bedside table a sidelong glance. Nikolai scoffs as he finishes folding his blanket and tosses it down before looking out the window. “I’m heading to town in a bit. I’ll get you some cough syrup and we’ll dilute it in water to make sure you don’t die in case it’s too strong.”

“You’re so odd.” It’s said quietly, but Nikolai catches it anyway.

“Damn, you’re not slowing down on the jabs today, are ya?” Nikolai pouts, leaning against the window frame and turning to face Fyodor.

“What I mean is…” The harpy clears his throat before he begins. “I was just very rude to you.”

A shrug. “You’re always rude to me.”

He can tell this has the shorter man visibly annoyed before he pushes on. “I mean, I just insulted your kind. And yet you still insist on taking care of me.”

This time, Nikolai finds himself thinking about it. This is the first time Fyodor has actively tried to engage in discussion with him, so the least he can do is throw him a bone.

“You’re not the only one here who hates humans.” He puts simply, tilting his face a little so that his nose meets the fresh, crisp air of the new morning. “I moved out here because I got sick of the others. I worked this shitty high-end office job that my parents wheedled me into, I was at a fancy ass party every week…I even had a girlfriend, believe it or not.”

Fyodor wrinkles his nose a little. “I’m sorry to hear about that. Did you really leave all of that to live out here?”

“Yep.” Nikolai grins a little, stretching an arm up and looking into the space ahead of him as he recounts the memories. “It’s fine, though. I never liked the gal. Or any gal for that matter, but my dad was insistent I needed a wife by the time I was twenty five.”

“You’re not like many humans.” Fyodor hums softly, picking at his bad wing. It’s doing a lot better now that the wound has finally started healing over. “Last week, I was being hunted by one of you. My fate would have been sealed to a pair of wings over a fireplace if you hadn’t saved me.”

“It’s really nothing.” Nikolai assures him easily. “Like I said, the forest rewards me for taking care of birds. Saving you already has my garden flourishing despite how cold the weather’s been these days.”

“Well, I still believe you deserve thanks.” Fyodor respites just as quickly as he brushes him off. “Thank you, Nikolai. I am not vocal enough in my thanks.”

It’s probably the sickness that’s getting his guard down, Nikolai realises. By the time Fyodor’s better, he’s likely going to go back to being his usual stand-offish self. And as much as he enjoys the idle conversation, he’d rather the harpy was in the right mind when they speak.

“It’s no matter.” He assures him, walking over to the door. “I’ll bring you some water, then you should probably rest while I head to the town over. It might take a while since it’s always so busy this time of day.”

Fyodor only nods, laying down slowly. Nikolai notices the way his eyes don’t leave him until he’s out of sight and, when he returns with the water, he pretends not to note the way he’s being watched.

It’ll wear off after the sickness goes down, he reminds himself. 

__

It does not.

“Something you need?” Nikolai offers well into the night, finally looking up at his bed, where Fyodor is watching him. He can’t make out his expression in the dark, but the ebony of his eyes shows that his pupils are fixated on him nonetheless. Watching.

Fyodor has been either asleep or pensive all day. He’s too exhausted to read, so he requested that Nikolai let the birds into the room. He obliged of course, both out of sympathy and the fact that the creatures are well overdue for exercise.

He was even able to clean up their room while they were busy trashing his own, so maybe there’s a positive note to all this.

”I’m cold.” It is whispered.

He sits up, alert and guilty at his own annoyance. “Should I get you more pillows? Some blankets? There’s tons of soup left over, I could even hear that up for you.”

Instead, a hand reaches out, palm open and facing up.

Nikolai furrows his brows, mind muddled by sleeplessness as he extends his own and places it in Fyodor’s waiting palm. He doesn’t know what he expects to happen, but it’s definitely not for the harpy to slowly curl his fingers over Nikolai’s hand.

He feels his heart sink a little before Fyodor speaks. “You’re warm.”

“It feels like you have a fever. Let me get you some more medicine.” Nikolai attempts to stand up and retrieve the bottle from the kitchen, but Fyodor doesn’t loosen his grip on his hand.

“You’re very warm.” He echoes his previous statement, gently tugging Nikolai a little closed. “I think I just need…a heat source.

“A heat source.” The human replies, leaning down to make out Fyodor’s expression. He looks hazy- even a little out if it white the way his eyes are hooded.

Feathers brush against Nikolai's shoulder as Fyodor cups his cheek. His hands are cold and bony. “Do you think you could lay with me? Just for tonight?”

Oh boy. He really is unwell.

“I have a heating pad in the attic.” Nikolai tells him, attempting to pull away. The harpy does not release his hand, instead tightens his grip on it. “Fyodor-”

“Five minutes.” A weak cough as if he’s intentionally trying to cajole Nikolai into listening. “I- I don’t…I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Nikolai hastily lowers himself to sit at the edge of the bed. “I don’t mind, alright? Just tell me what you want me to do.”

“…hold me?” And it is said so weakly, so tiredly that Nikolai can only lay down next to the harpy and wrap his arms around his waist.

Immediately, he feels the alarming warmth of Fyodor’s body when he’s pressed against him- meaning his fever hasn’t gone down yet and, if anything, is now at its highest. But what surprises Nikolai more is the harpy wrapping his arms around Nikolai’s middle and, resultantly, wrapping his wings around him as well.

It’s an odd sensation- soft, almost like a blanket but much colder than the rest of his body.

“Fyodor…?”

“You feel nice.” The harpy whispers like a confession, pressing his forehead against Nikolai’s chest. “And you don’t smell as bad as the other humans.”

“I think I just smell like the birds, really.” He chuckles softly, heart thundering in his chest so loudly, he’s sure the harpy hears it.

“Is it okay if we stay like this, Nikolai?” And that’s it.

It shouldn’t be so easy to steal a heart, but all it takes for Fyodor to claim his is to say his name just too fucking sweetly for his own good. And he’s so warm, so soft, so inviting in this moment that he is nothing but lead.

“Of course.”

Fyodor lets out a small, contented noise, almost a purr and lets his head fall against the pillows as Nikolai holds him- as he trusts Nikolai to hold him. He sighs softly, pushing Fyodor’s hair off of his face and, when the harpy leans into the touch, he’s left awestruck.

Part of him fears that this…infatuation might be because he hasn’t interacted with anyone for far too long, but with how beautiful the harpy looks in his arms…he can’t help but savour this joy.

Because soon, Fyodor will be gone and Nikolai will be alone again.

__

In three days, Fyodor is finally back in good health.

Nikolai suspects that it’s some sort of variant of the common cold for harpies mixed in with the sudden change of environment. He’s jotted down the symptoms and cure in his guide book and the treatment as well.

Well, it was less of a proper treatment and simply allowing Fyodor to sleep for the better part of the day while bringing him tea and fruits every few hours. On top of that, Fyodor decided that he simply could not sleep without Nikolai next to him after that night.

Trust him, he tried to move to the sofa, but woke up with a start to the harpy nestling himself in his lap while grumbling about how Nikolai ‘chooses the worst times to turn into a noble man’. This may be the wrong critique here, but he thinks he’s always been a noble man.

Right now, the harpy is perched on top of the windowsill, wistfully gazing out the window and leaving Nikolai to stare. He’s taking the opportunity to sketch the scene in front of him- it’s not often Fyodor is so oblivious of his presence.

They haven’t talked about the…arrangements they fall to at night, but it doesn’t seem like Fyodor is open to discussion either. Every time Nikolai tries to bring it up, he fixes him with daggers until the taller man simply ends up trailing off.

“I’d like to go outside today.” The harpy says now and Nikolai slowly looks up from his sketch, still half finished. “It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to stretch my wings.”

“Of course…would you like me to keep you company?” Nikolai offers, shutting the notebook and walking over to the windowsill as well. 

“Would the huntsman still be out looking for me?” Fyodor asks, effectively stopping Nikolai’s heart when he leans against his arm, just slightly.

“I don’t believe so. But just in case…”

“You can keep me company.” Fyodor finishes easily with a shrug. “I don’t mind that. I just…am very sick of sitting around.”

An idea hits Nikolai. “I actually have the perfect place we can go.”

He holds out a hand, half expecting Fyodor to glare at it until he regretfully slinks away. Instead, the harpy gently slips his palm onto Nikolai’s own, effectively almost stopping his heart. 

“There’s, uhm-” Nikolai struggles with his words for a moment, especially under Fyodor’s expectant deadpan. “There’s this place I go to a lot.”

An underwhelming answer if there ever was one. Deciding to spare himself the embarrassment, Nikolai begins leading Fyodor up the stairs of the living room all the way to the attic, and then even high up a few more steps to a metal gate.

He opens it with a small heave, Fyodor’s hand never straying far from his.

Nikolai hardly ever comes up to the roof in the colder weather, but the sun is up and it’s windy enough not to make the glare unbearable. 

There’s a small treehouse built onto the top of the building that the trees around the house have grown their branches into. There are a few steps that lead to the inside of it- a small area of flooring with a singular sleeping bag on the ground and a shelf full of miscellaneous notebooks and dishes that Nikolai never got around to bringing down.

Outside of it is the flooring of the roof- simple, really, but spacious enough that Fyodor relaxes in an instant.

This place has just the amount of privacy and space Fyodor needs. Nikolai smiles, watching the harpy tip his head up to the sun, thick brows easing away the tension as he spreads his wings.

Meanwhile, he decides to take a step back towards the gate to allow Fyodor some room. And then, with the single flap of his wings, he causes an almighty gust of wind that had his hair flowing every which way.

Nikolai’s eyes widen. Fascinating.

And then, Fyodor steps towards the edge of the roof and takes a breath. His eyes find Nikolai’s for just a second, laced with…fear. He hasn’t flown in a month.

“You got this, Fyodor.” He whispers, smiling at him reassuringly.

It seems like those words provide solace, because the harpy branches his wings, hands angled like a ballerina about to break into a well practiced dance and he’s stepping off of the roof.

And Fyodor soars.

A relieved laugh escapes Nikolai’s lips as he runs to the edge to watch the harpy bolt high into the air. He’s never seen a harpy fly before, not close enough to make out the blissful smile on Fyodor’s face as he threads through the trees until the sun silhouettes him.

Beautiful. If he could capture this moment in a picture, it would not be enough.

It isn’t long before the lack of exercise catches up to Fyodor and he slowly begins lowering himself towards the edge of the roof.

“Fyodor, you are-.” Nikolai doesn’t get to finish gushing over Fyodor before he’s running into his arms and kissing him full on the mouth.

The shock is the only reason he finds himself unable to return it, the harpy’s hands on his chest the only thing he really registers until he realises that those dry, thin lips are gliding against his own.

‘Holy shit, they’re kissing.’

Nikolai’s hands scramble to find the harpy’s waist, heart hammering in his chest and he’s sure his cheeks are red enough to rival the strawberries Fyodor loves so much. Nikolai shuts his eyes, tasting them on his lips. 

When they pull away, the human beams down at him, only to find Fyodor staring at him in horror. “I…”

“I know, I know. That was sudden.” Nikolai laughs, nervously running a hand through his hair. “But…god, I like you, Fyodor, so, so, much. And I want to do whatever you want for the rest of my-”

“No.” Fyodor’s eyes widen and he steps back, guarded.

He panics. “No?”

“No. I’m not…you’re…” He wraps his arms around himself as if creating a barrier between him and Nikolai. He panics, moving forward with his arms open only for the harpy to cower back.

Like he did when they first met. When he thought Nikolai would kill him.

“Hey, I know it’s sudden, Fyodor, but we can-”

“No.” The harpy shoots him daggers. “I’m harpy. You’re human. This…this is wrong, a harpy should never feel these things-” 

“Who says that these things are wrong?” Nikolai tries, a weight growing in his chest the longer Fyodor is staring at him like he’s a monster. “It’s just you and me here, Fyodor. No one can hate us for…”

His words fail him when the harpy begins walking back towards the gate. 

“Fyodor-” Nikolai follows him all the way down the stairs, making a grab for his shoulder, but missing because he doesn’t want to hurt Fyodor.

The harpy stops at the doorway of his room and Nikolai feels relief wash over him.

“Hey, listen, we can talk about this, okay?” He’s left watching the ashy gray and white tips of his wings as he talks. “I know it’s scary, but we can figure something-”

“Leave me alone, Nikolai.”

The door shuts in his face, leaving him standing outside the room, alone for the first time in a month. Nikolai curses to himself, running a hand over his face as he makes his way to the kitchen with little else left to do.

He should have let Fyodor process before rushing him with so much…commitment. God, he’s an idiot.

Nikolai drifts back towards the door. He pauses, pressing his ear to it, but hears no sound except the shuffle of Fyodor’s wings on his sheets. He tilts his head, forehead leaving against the cool wood.

“Fyodor…listen. I’m sorry for what happened up there. I know it’s difficult…we’re both so different but…I care about you a lot.” He receives no reply. “I’m…I’m here, okay? Just tell me if you need me.”

Except Fyodor doesn’t utter a word, leaving Nikolai to dwell in his own stupidity. 

__

Nikolai sleeps on the floor that night.

Taking the sleeping bag from the treehouse, he laid it right in front of the door of his room. He realises that it’s probably not ideal, but he wants to be there when Fyodor wants to talk.

He doesn’t want to cause him the pain of having to reach too far to find him. God, he’s really far gone. 

But Nikolai can’t sleep. How could he?

His mind doesn’t let him relax, pushing the thought of Fyodor leaving him front and centre. He won’t need so many berries anymore. The birds won’t be as calm during storms. There won’t be anyone to talk to.

He’ll be alone all over again.

Nikolai traces the grooves of his door with a finger. Inside, he can still hear Fyodor moving around. They haven’t slept apart from each other in more than a week. He must be sleepless, the poor thing. Maybe even cold. 

“Fyodor.” He whispers, praying that the harpy can hear him. “Are you okay?”

Silence. “Why are you still here?”

Relief washes over Nikolai’s senses. “I’m worried about you.”

“Why?” His voice seems to be getting closer. 

“Because I was an idiot.” Despite his grogginess, Nikolai swathes his spare blanket around himself and sits back against the door. “I said a lot of things too quickly.”

More silence. This time, he can hear the harpy sitting back against the door. “You don’t love me.”

He smiles. “I do.”

“It’s just loneliness.” Fyodor sounds almost angry at Nikolai’s insistence. “You haven’t spoken to any of your kind in so long. Your mind is simply latching onto the closest thing you have to company.”

“Maybe. But now that I’m feeling it, what else can I do?” Nikolai presses his head back against the door. “You’re not like the humans I’ve met.”

“Because I’m not human.”

“Yeah. I like that about you.” The taller yawns, tightening the blanket around his shoulders. “You’ve got attitude problems. You’re vain. You’re…so much fun to talk to.”

“I’m just your only option.” Fyodor insists.

“Nah, if it really bothered me, I’d go back to the humans. But I prefer you.” An idea hits him. “Wait here.”

Nikolai stands up and slowly walks to the dining room table where his journal is lying on the table and brings it back to the door. “Here. I made this a while back…but it’s not complete.”

He slides it under the door, leaning against it on his side now as if craning to listen will give him a clearer picture of Fyodor’s pretty, mole-dotted face. The flip of a page. Another.

“This is…”

“You. It started as a project for studying harpies but…,” He remembers all the passages of Fyodor’s personal preferences, his vainness, the sketches of him. “It’s more about you than anything.”

Fyodor is silent while he looks through the book, Nikolai awaiting his response in his groggy longing. He wishes he could hold him right now, maybe it would ease him.

“I’ve been…nothing but a nuisance to you.” Fyodor begins, his voice low and a little shaky. It breaks Nikolai’s heart. “They…the others told me that humans are selfish and angry. That they hurt what they can’t have. While you…you’re nothing like that.”

“A lot of people are and a lot of people aren’t. Like…like how all harpies aren’t the same.” Nikolai yawns a little. “But I found you.”

A snort. “I broke into your house.”

“Then you found me.” Nikolai smiles. “I stopped trying to understand emotions a long time ago. I just…feel what I feel.”

“And what if someone saw us. Would you not be ashamed of loving something like me?”

“No.” Nikolai replies without hesitation. “I mean, look at you. You’re beautiful, Fyodor.”

“Oh, stop it.” It comes off as tired, even more so when the harpy yawns. Then, he slides something under the door too.

Except it isn’t the one he gave him, but a much older one he swore he put away.

The log book he first documented his struggles with life alone in. The one with all his most embarrassing failures and darkest, loneliest thoughts. Shit.

“Where…”

“I started reading it when I was sick and I…” Fyodor seems to stop himself from pushing on before taking a breath. “It made me feel like…you were more than just a human. Like you were like me.”

Nikolai flips the page to the last passage he wrote- an aimless rant about a recipe he tried after an hour of digging around to find the perfect kind of fish to cook. He snorts, flipping a page…to find writing that isn’t his.

‘Nikolai doesn’t know I’m keeping his journal for myself. I wonder if he left it out for me to find.’

It’s not just a page, but the rest of the notebook.

‘I have fallen ill. I curse out the god that these humans believe in.’

‘I wonder if I could slip out for just a breath of fresh air.’

‘Nikolai is…infinitely more comfortable than his bed. I should stop talking to him so much.’

‘I woke up with his lips against my cheek. It felt nice.’

‘What’s happening to me? Does he know he’s doing this? What is this strange feeling!’

“You…”

“I feel things when I’m with you.” Fyodor confesses quietly. “It scares me.”

“I feel them too.” Nikolai replies, pressing his palm to the door. “I know it’s confusing…but we can work it out together. Just you and me.”

A pause. “If something feels this good, then why do people look down on it?”

“Sometimes, what’s different scares them.” Nikolai whispers, shutting his eyes. 

The door clicks open. 

Nikolai sits up immediately, eyes wide as it swings open. Fyodor stares down at him, clearly taken aback. “Why are you on the ground?”

“I…uhm…I wanted to keep you company.” He replies sheepishly.

The harpy blinks. Then yanks Nikolai up by his collar to get him to his feet. “You are…the stupidest human I have ever met.”

“Hey, I’m also the only human you met, so that also makes me the smartest.” He grins before Fyodor pulls him towards himself for their second kiss.

He wishes he could say it’s not as exhilarating as the first, but he’s already picking the harpy up and spinning him in his arms. His wings encase the two of them when Fyodor wraps his arms around Nikolai’s neck, shutting them away from the world.

This way, only small slivers of moonlight slip last Fyodor’s feathers, illuminating his pale skin, almost blue in their shine. 

“Beautiful.” Nikolai murmurs against the harpy’s lips. “You’re…fucking breathtaking.”

“And you are…” Fyodor holds Nikolai’s face in his hands, thumbs slotting into the crevices of his dimples. “Too much the same for my own good.”

“Aw, just say I’m pretty next time.” Nikolai coos, then yelps as they fall back onto his bed.

His bed that is now…covered in his clothes along with the blankets. “Are these all mine?”

Fyodor scowls. “I don’t see any other men living around here.”

Defensive. Nikolai smiles fondly and leans down to peck Fyodor’s cheek. “It’s cute.”

The harpy pretends his face isn’t beet red. “I don’t need your approval. Besides…I only called you inside because I can’t sleep.”

“Uh huh, and that kiss we just shared…?”

Fyodor slips onto his lap, hands on his shoulders. “A complication, it won’t matter in the long run.”

“Yeah?” Nikolai grins stupidly as Fyodor holds his face in his hands once more as if it’s an attempt to take all of him in at the same time. 

Slowly, his lips shift back onto Nikolai’s. “Yeah.”

He tilts his face into Fyodor’s palm, pressing his lips against the skin. “Stay with me.”

An amused smile. “That’s a big decision.”

“It is…” His hands find the shorter’s waist. “But you want to, don’t you? We’ll go to the fields every weekend to stretch your wings and have a picnic after. And I’ll take you on walks every morning. Plus, the birds love you too.”

“And they love you.” A beat of silence as he buries his face in Nikolai’s neck shyly. ”…and I…do too.”

“Do what too?” He grins slyly when Fyodor pinches his side. “Sorry, sorry.”

They flop over to the side- or really, Nikolai’s weight does so when he leans in to smother kisses on Fyodor’s neck. His skin is so soft with the lack of sunlight he’s been receiving.

“You can stay with me as long as you want, you know?”

“I do.” 

“And do you know why?” Nikolai threads his fingers through Fyodor’s hair and he melts into the touch.

“Because you’re foolish.” Fyodor cups his cheek. “You like caring for things that give you no repayment.”

“You’re here like this with me. That’s payment enough.” Fyodor smiles softly at those words, eyelids drooping. “Real rich that you’re after I slept on the floor.”

“It’s not my fault you thought I’d leave you out all night.” Fyodor pouts, rolling his eyes. When Nikolai decides to play kicked puppy, he huffs and pecks his forehead.

They don’t say much after, Nikolai deciding that he needs to kiss every inch of Fyodor’s face until he falls asleep. And even when Fyodor falls asleep, he continues to watch him, feeling like he’s not alone for the first time in years.

__

There’s a small piece of heaven in Nikolai’s bed every morning- brows puckered amidst a dream and bony frame swathed in one of Nikolai’s shirts. His feathers crumple whenever he wears them, but Fyodor has decided that the maintenance is worth the comfort.

And every morning, Nikolai gets to peck the tip of his nose and watch the daylight slope over his features until yawns and snuggles into Nikolai’s chest.

Except today, apparently.

Nikolai notes the absence of his…person with a groan. (You see, they’re not married, but five years, about a dozen species of birds and a pair of rings later, it rolls off of the tongue better than “my boyfriend who’s a harpy”)

He yawns loudly, stretching his arms up as he looks around their bedroom for any sign of Fyodor, but finds no trace of him, not even a stray feather.

And so, he begins his mission: find husband. 

If he plays his cards right, he might even be able to crunch in another hour of sleep- the winter turns him into a hibernating mammal, sue him.

“Fedya?” Nikolai calls, walking through their quiet house groggily. Even the birds aren’t up yet. “Sweetheart, where are you?”

“In the kitchen, my love.” 

Nikolai follows his voice, peeking around the corner. Fyodor is bent over the stove, one of their new chicks perched on his shoulder. From this angel, all Nikolai can really make out is his wings. 

“Morning, angel.” Nikolai grudges towards him, wrapping his arms around Fyodor’s waist and resting his chin on his free shoulder. “Why’re you up so early?”

“This little one needed something to eat.” Fyodor points to the drive, where he’s frying some seeds in a pan to make them easier for the little thing to digest.

In the years they’ve been together, he’s become something of a mother hen to the birds, leaving Nikolai to be their less competent but equally attentive father in his wake.

He presses his lips to the crown of Fyodor’s dark hair and shuts his eyes, allowing the sound of the morning drizzle to lull him into a bout of hazy half sleepiness.

The little chick hops on top of Fyodor’s head, then makes its way to Nikolai and begins tugging at his hair. He screws his face up. “Hey, watch the hair, little man.”

“This one’s so playful.” Fyodor tells him fondly as he stirs the seeds. “He spent all morning chasing his siblings around.”

“Looks like we’ve got a trouble maker on our hands, isn’t that right, little dude?” The bird chirps happily as if confirming Nikolai’s tease.

He watches as Fyodor crushes up the seeds into a fine powder with the spatula and pours them into a feeding bowl for the little creature.

After a moment, Fyodor speaks. “A letter arrived this morning by a carrier pigeon. The poor thing was exhausted, so I’m having it rest until it’s time to send a reply.”

Nikolai peeks an eye open. “A letter?”

“It was for you.” Fyodor tells him, a little stiffly. “I didn’t read its contents, but I’m sure it’s from your parents.”

“Then we’re not reading it.” He replies simply, slumping back into Fyodor’s neck to continue pecking the moles along the column of it. “I needed something to fuel the birds’ heater anyways.”

“You’re so stubborn.” Fyodor sighs, shaking his head. “It might be urgent.”

“Nah, they probably just want me to visit them so they can try to get me to go back.” 

“My love, this is our fifth year together and they’re still assuming that you’re living alone in a forest.” Fyodor hums, petting the feathery head of the bird as it eats. “Maybe it’s time to let them know.”

“I told them I’m seeing someone last time!” Nikolai pouts the way he does whe Fyodor scolds him. “B’sides, I don’t want them involved with us.”

A pause. “Don’t you feel suffocated here with me all alone?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Never. Life’s always been better since we’ve been together, so why change it?”

“Stubborn.” Fyodor shakes his head, but fondness laces his tone. “Go back to bed. I’ll join you as soon as I’m done with this one.”

“Mmhm.” Nikolai yawns a final time, trudging back to their room and tucking himself underneath the covers with just enough space to swathe Fyodor tightly in his arms.

After a moment, Fyodor is back and crawling into bed. They’re almost nose to nose.

“So. Come here often?”

That earns Nikolai a deadpanned frown. “Are you implying that I bed idiots often?”

“I mean you bed this idiot often-” Smack. “Jeez, tough crowd.”

“Go to sleep, you fool. Your charms don’t work on me.”

“Oh, I think they do.” Nikolai grins, bright and eager despite the sleep in his eyes. “Or else you wouldn’t be wearing that ring on your finger.”

“It’s a matter of convenience. And the idiot who gave it to me acts like a kicked puppy whenever I take it off.”

“You should leave him.” Nikolai snorts. “Run away with me instead.”

“No, I found that I’m quite attracted to his stupidity.”

Nikolai giggles, pecking Fyodor’s cheek in a thousand kisses. “I love you, Fedya.”

“And I love you.” A fond kiss to his forehead. “Now go to sleep.“

“Yes, warden.”

Nikolai tangles their legs together playfully, Fyodor tucks his face into the crook of his neck. 

In the thick of this forest, lives a man all alone. But really, if you pay attention, you might hear his husband berating him for taking too long to pick them fruit for their lunch, maybe even catch a sardonic reply.

They love each other, though, and that will always be evident by how the forest rewards them for their love, keeping their garden plentiful and their birds happy.